THE HAUNTED RECTORY 1972-74

The move to Patricroft, Eccles was quite exciting for me. I was totally
starry eyed about the house, a three storey old rectory done in grey
stucco on the outside which came fully furnished and trained guard dog.
The owners were emigrating to Australia and travelling as light as
possible. The guard dog, a gorgeous huge white German Shepherd called
Panda was totally out of the question since dad was never that fond of
any dogs especially one that looked almost ready to eat him, but this
was utterly wonderful for the boy across the road, Paul Bracegirdle.

The Wilkies, the previous owners, had noticed that Paul was quite
fond of Panda and the affection was returned. They decided to give the
dog to them. Paul had a younger sister, Joanne who seemed to suffer
from mild autism or something similar. Their mother, a good natured
though somewhat nervous middle aged lady obviously adored her kids and
seemed to be in a state of perpetual worry for the family's survival.
She also had to deal with her epilepsy and the fact that she had been
dumped by the children's father some time back. I was determined not to
show any pity since I knew she'd hate that. I'd been the recipient of
enough misplaced pity already. Still, my heart went out to her
situation. I was too young to have any idea how to express my feelings
about it to her so I decided to relate to her with the respect I
treated any adult. Since I became Paul's friend the dog accepted me as
a member of the 'pack' and literally bowled me over with affection,
vigorous tail wagging huge soaking licks. In the next two years, Paul,
Joanne and I had a lovely time exploring the historic disused railway
tracks all the way to Worsely woods and noone messed with us with Panda
guarding us. We'd go through the worst back streets of Patricroft and
the local toughs stayed away from us, once begging us to take the dog
away!

Back to the house. As I said, it was beautiful to my eyes, fully
furnished and with a huge collection of Indian Tree China. I had to
laugh because even the toilet bowl was Royal Doulton. I was fascinated
that the upstairs rooms were each on different levels. I had chosen the
first room on the left which looked out over the concrete back yard
towards Liverpool street- frankly an ugly view but I loved the french
windows opening onto a nice size balcony. My room actually had a sink
and another smaller room leading off which had once been a nursery.
There was a large chest of drawers in there I could use for my clothes,
girl comics and other paraphanalia, and pretty much no room for
anything else. I decided Sandy and Dandy's cages should occupy the rest
of the floor space. Since I wasn't a particularly clothes conscious
teenager I was not at all bothered that there was no place to hang
anything. My school uniform usually lived on a hanger on the french
door handle. Of course I could have used space in the dressing room
next to my parents' room but it never even occurred to me at the time.

A couple more steps led to the 'holy of holies', my parents' room. I
was indoctrinated at an early age never to enter this room, possibly
due to the wishes of a frustrated father whose romantic evenings had
been interrupted too many times by a toddler entering unexpectedly and
wanting to snuggle up to mummy in the double bed. Mum never turned me
away but at some point they decided enough was enough and made their
space out of bounds.

Then, after a few more steps and the dressing room came the enormous
bathroom with a nice size bath, the China toilet, a bidet and a
kingfisher engraved on the mirror. Of course, being a bird lover I
noticed this right away. The Wilkies confessed they had never noticed
it at all. A small flight of steps led to a little attic room with a
dormer window and a very complicated ceiling, all strange angles. This
would be Paul's room and looked out over my balcony. When we first
viewed this room it was full of junk, boxes and a tiger's head! I hated
that dead thing and think I remembered asking mum to please make sure
they got rid of it but I couldn't help feeling disappointed about its
absence later.

High up over that last flight of stairs there appeared to be a
trapdoor in the sloping roof which had been papered over. We could see
from the shape of the roof on the outside there must be space over my
parents' bedroom and dressing room and this must give access to it, and
it probably extended over my room too. That space must have been huge!
Sadly my parents were not curious enough to get that trapdoor uncovered
and force an entry. How disappointing!

They were also not curious enough to investigate the house's other
physical legend, a secret underground passage which was supposed to
lead to another clerical house around the corner. We knew where the
entrance was, a dusty dark hole behind a tiny door under the stairs but
we were forbidden to try it with dire warnings that it was old,
unstable, likely to cave in at any moment and trap us down there, bury
us forever. My agonized curiosity was kept at bay by a strong sense of
self preservation.

The rest of the downstairs consisted of a large rambling combination
sitting room, dining room, a rather small kitchen with a sunroom
leading off it and opening onto the back yard, a long 'utility room'
for washer, dryer, ironing, airing cupboard and such, that leading from
the space. with the door leading to the 'dark and ominous hole' , a
more formal living room with fireplace and black leather upholstery,
(the natural home of the television we decided), and finally, my
favourite room was dad's study simply because of it's curious aromas.
It smelled of soft leather and something like rattan or bamboo, I
couldn't quite place it. There were a couple of gorgeous soft leather
pouffes which seemed to be some kind of Asian or native American
craftsmanship. When dad wasn't about I loved to read in there.

Our neighbours on one side appeared to be Hindu. We were never quite
sure just how many people lived there since there seemed to be a
constant coming and going of relatives but they were all gracious and
quiet and pretty much kept themselves to themselves. Paul managed to
get some kind of rapport with the youngest boy there, though I don't
know how he managed it since the little one seemed both shy and knew
very little English. They must have used sign language or something.

Just beyond the alley on the other side was an ugly old building
that was used as a youth club and thumped annoying music a few nights a
week. The proximity to Liverpool Road, the youth club and the generally
decrepit old neighbourhood were factors that made the beautiful old
rectory such a fantastic bargain and affordable for us.I wasn't
complaining, we never had any trouble from the neighbours, even without
Panda to guard our place. It's possible any local burglars assumed she
was still there, (especially since I was so often seen with her!)

The other legend of the rectory was the ghost. Unfortunately we
never had any hard information about the supposed origin of this
haunting but the story certainly titillated the nascent gothic aspects
of my teenage psyche and I always hoped for some 'experience' . I was
naturally disappointed that my most down to earth mother and Mrs.
Bracegirdle that 'enjoyed' a 'sighting'. I overheard my mother tell
over the story to friends one night and the hushed tones attracted my
attention so I crept down the stairs as far as I dared without creaking
the staircase, to listen in. The next day I badgered my mother about
it, let her know I'd heard enough to want me to just get the details I
hadn't quite heard clear in my head. Somewhat reluctantly she told me.

She and the neighbour were sitting by the dining table when they
noticed movement outside. They raised their eyes to see a strange
figure crossing the yard in the middle of the day. He wore a typical
old style Lancashire flat cap and coat and he had no business being
there. Both the gates to the alley and to Lynwood Avenue are noisy and
usually kept closed and no noise was heard at all, yet he passed right
through and then was gone. My mother said as soon as she set eyes on
him she felt something was wrong, her hair stood up on the back of her
neck, all the classic 'symptoms'. I wondered later if he lacked a
shadow or something else that would make him seem so strange. Our
neighbour's reaction was even more dramatic. Right after seeing him she
went into a grand mal seizure. She had just finished calming down after
this, having a cup of tea with mum, when I arrived back from school.
Mum had always been an open minded person but no flake and had never
reported seeing anything like this or believing in ghosts at any other
time I knew her.

A lady who owned a petshop on Liverpool street used to live in the
rectory years before- we found this out since that's where we bought
the seed for Sandy and Dandy. She told us about the old ghost legend
and that many years before, perhaps two decades, she had seen a man of
the same description in the house.. right on the stairs where I'd first
overheard the story.

Though disappointed I had not seen the man in the flat cap I did
have two strange and rather disturbing memories. First was when my
grandmother came to stay. She slept in my room and I slept in a
makeshift bed in the little nursery. I have never suffered from
claustrophobia yet for some totally unaccountable reason I spent much
of that night in a state of terror. I had not had such a feeling before
or since. I'd slept in my grandmother's house before, when my brother
was born and felt comfortable with her proximity but that night was
somehow different. It was so strange, I was never given to night
terrors like that and yet it seemed to me that there was some ominous
presence above me, not in the room but just beyond that might descend
into the room if I should let down my guard and fall asleep. I did not
want to disturb grandma or my parents with my obviously irrational
fear, I didn't think they'd appreciate that, so I stayed where I was. I
must have found a way to comfort myself, prayer perhaps, I don't
remember, or just simple fatigue or both. At any rate I fell asleep at
some time and remember no disturbing dreams.

The other experience was more bizarre and very vivid. It was so real
my memory could not tell if I was awake or just in a very vivid dream,
though it must have been that. I was lying in my own bed, as I'd been
when I fell asleep. The room was filled with light though it seemed to
be the middle of the night and the light not natural. Everything in the
room was where it normally is except that a figure stood between myself
and the french door. I could not tell if it was male or female, it
seemed to be veiled in black from head to toe. It felt menacing and
aware of me but just standing there utterly still. Then suddenly a
nasty little thing swooped by on a broomstick past my left ear, dressed
like a little harlequin but with an ugly malicious grin and cackle of
laughter. I felt totally freaked out by that even though it was so
small and didn't actually hurt me. Then the dream or whatever it was
just winked out and next thing I knew I was waking up to normal morning
lighting.

Well, we lived there for a little over two years until a job
opportunity opened up for my father in Cardiff. That was an agonizing
decision for him- to stick with Assistant Town Clerk in Manchester with
the hope that one day he might be the one promoted to Deputy, or to
seize the opening for Deputy available right then in Cardiff with the
knowledge that there was really no going back. As it turned out he made
the right choice but this did mean a major move and some sacrifices and
he conferred with all of us about how we felt about the move. Changing
high schools would be a huge move for me, especially when I was
settled, loved my friends and was doing so well academically (See the
Bolton School memoirs). Still, though I was naturally a bit upset about
leaving my friends I was excited about the adventure and changes ahead.
To move to south Wales sounded truly wonderful and I was happy to give
dad's career move my enthusiastic blessing.